


the grudge

by tokidokis



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Dead Mothers, Gen, Ghosts, Shogi-Playing Ghosts Of Dead Mothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 22:43:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1321948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokidokis/pseuds/tokidokis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>mayuzumi chihiro sees dead people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the grudge

**Author's Note:**

> written for bps challenge #62, girls.

One sweltering summer’s day, a shogi board mysteriously appeared in the middle of Rakuzan’s main practice hall. In a bizarre fit of clumsiness, Mibuchi almost tripped over it before he even noticed it was there; as he righted himself, manfully ignoring Nebuya’s muffled sniggers, he noticed that the pieces delicately positioned in their correct squares had not moved an inch even after he had flailed – elegantly, of course – all over the board.

“Why is there a shogi board in the middle of the court,” he demanded, eying it suspiciously. Perhaps the pieces were glued down, although he could not fathom how such an action might facilitate any obviously sinister end.

“A shogi board?” Hayama asked, coming to join him in his one-sided glaring match against an inanimate object. “Is someone trying to prank Akashi? We should probably move it before he comes, he’s not going to be happy if he sees it here.” He made an aborted gesture towards the board before Nebuya charged in, flexing his muscles nonchalantly.

“Yes, just go barging right on in,” Mibuchi said with a put-upon sigh. “We all know you’re only trying to show off.”

Nebuya shot him an insolent grin. “ _Muscles_ ,” he declared, and stooped down to get his – okay, yes, very corded – arms around the board.

 

 

 

 

 

When Mayuzumi walked into the practice hall that morning, the first thing he noticed was Nebuya, red-faced and hunched over a shogi board in the middle of the court. The second thing he noticed was the careful half-metre radius the regulars were maintaining from him, and the third was the red-headed woman sitting across from where Nebuya was desperately trying to shift the board with a look of gentle amusement on her face.

“What the hell is going on,” he said, dropping his bag on the sidelines of the court. He highly doubted that Nebuya was crouched in frustration over the intellectual battlefield of a shogi game, stumped by the moves some invisible opponent had just made, mainly because he had his fingers clamped beneath the board and was apparently in the middle of trying to yank his arms right out of their sockets.

Honestly, he would’ve been too shocked to even react if it turned out that Nebuya was actually trying his hand at shogi. As it was, the more pressing concern was that no one, it seemed, had noticed the presence of the stranger in their midst. Being the only one to see a beautiful red-headed woman – and she was beautiful, even if there was something a little off about her – when she was sat in a kimono right in the middle of a basketball court, in front of thirty-odd people shooting concerned looks in her general vicinity, was a portent which always boded ill.

Hayama turned to him, actually taking notice of his presence for once, and pulled a face. “Nebuya’s been trying to move that thing for fifteen minutes, but it’s not budged an inch.”

“He’s probably just faking it,” Mibuchi said with a dramatic flick of a stray strand of hair. “Or there are indeed a ton of rocks in there.”

Mayuzumi stared. There must have been some quality of his silence that alerted the red-headed woman to his stunned demeanour, because she turned her head towards him with a delicate grace. Her eyes were a gentle gold that fixed inexorably upon him and almost seemed to flay him alive from skin to toe, dissecting all his imperfections and finding him wanting; when she opened her mouth, he flinched imperceptibly.

“Oh, can you see me?” she said serenely. “Well, that does make things a little easier.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hayama didn’t often pay attention to whatever that other regular (as he had dubbed him, since he wasn't an Uncrowned General and he wasn't Akashi either) was doing, but it was kind of obvious when Mayuzumi walked in and just came to a sudden stop, eyes fixed on a point just left of where Nebuya was grunting like a pig. For a split second his face went, if possible, even blanker than usual; then he was moving towards them with a kind of confidence that really just pissed Hayama off.

“Oi, Mayuzumi,” he called out, “don’t come too near, it’s probably cursed.” At his outburst, Reo-nee shot him a disbelieving but indulgent look; _wh_ _y on earth are you trying to keep him away from the shogi board just because it seems to be the origin of his sudden bout of conviction,_ it said. Hayama had no idea what he was getting at; he’d never claimed to be the pinnacle of maturity, after all.

It didn’t seem to matter, in any case, because Mayuzumi ignored him with a slight frown and made a beeline directly towards the shogi board. He didn’t even seem to pay attention to Nebuya as he stood and stared impassively for a few moments at the empty space across the board.

Then he nodded tightly and knelt down, folding his legs beneath him in seiza. “Akashi-san,” he said respectfully, bowing his head to thin air.

Hayama watched him with interest. “Has Akashi finally induced a psychotic break in someone?” he wondered offhandedly. Reo-nee didn’t even cast a scolding glance at him, probably because he was thinking the same thing. He was pretty sure that everyone had experienced a hallucination of Akashi at least once in their basketball career, but to stand witness to such an open nervous breakdown was new.

Mayuzumi just kept on ignoring them for whatever spectre of their captain he was envisioning across the shogi board. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. I am Mayuzumi Chihiro, Rakuzan third-year, and a member of your son’s basketball team.”

The hall suddenly went incredibly quiet, except for Nebuya’s laboured breathing.

“That’s a really extraordinary psychotic break,” Reo-nee said wonderingly, breaking the silence.

“Akashi’s mother?” Nebuya puffed from where he was still trying, it seemed, to pull the floorboards up with the shogi board. “Does he even have a mother? Didn’t he spring fully-formed from his father’s head?”

“You’re being rude,” Mayuzumi told them, not even bothering to drag his eyes away.

“You’re using keigo to speak to empty space,” Hayama retorted.

“Why haven’t you started practising,” Akashi said, appearing in the hall doorway.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nebuya hadn’t given up on shifting that damn board, oh no. It was just that, what with Mayuzumi talking right over his head as if he wasn’t even there, it seemed like his strength might best be appreciated in some other circumstance. Preferably in some other circumstance where he could make Mayuzumi see exactly what it felt like to be ignored as if you weren’t a presence even worth considering.

It was also that Akashi had just walked into the practice hall, and his disappointed look administered a concentrated dose of fear and repentance in equal measures to everyone within the near vicinity. Every pair of eyes was fixed upon him as he stalked towards the source of the commotion in the middle of the court; every pair of eyes, that is, except that of Mayuzumi, whom – having apparently developed a recent death wish – continued to stare intently into the near distance.

“Chihiro,” Akashi said portentously, slowing to a stop behind him.

To his credit, Mayuzumi did shoot him a quick glance before whatever it was that fascinated him so about the empty space across from him - because like hell it was actually the ghost of Akashi's mother - absorbed his attention once more. Everyone shrank back as Akashi’s features took on a displeased cast. Hopefully no one had brought a pair of scissors to practice today.

Nothing happened for a few minutes. Their captain waited. Mayuzumi ignored him. Nebuya held his breath and decided that, actually, maybe it’d be okay if Akashi stabbed him with a pair of scissors, since at least then Akashi’s wrath might be temporarily appeased and Nebuya could start supplying his lungs with oxygen again. Joining Rakuzan really had done a number on his general soundness of body and mind.

“Akashi,” Mayuzumi said after a long silence, rising from the side of the board. He was sweating slightly, which served him right for defying their captain for so long. “Your mother has a request.”

For a split second, Akashi scrutinised him with an uncanny and almost indefinable expression. Then his eyes gentled creepily, and oh yes, Nebuya recognised the far more familiar I’ll Kill You Dead look.

“My _mother_?” he asked delicately.

Mayuzumi swallowed, transferring his gaze to the empty space that had caused so much trouble. “Akashi-san,” he said.

“Look at me whilst you speak –” Akashi began harshly, eyes widening in a sudden terrifying fury.

“Akashi-san,” Mayuzumi said again, still staring into thin air, cutting across the actual Akashi-san he should’ve been talking to. “Could you repeat that?”

A pause. The feverish light of the sun outside itched against the back of Nebuya’s neck. Someone dropped their drink and the splutter of water as it spilt out of the rolling bottle was strangely muted, but everyone heard the clack as the shogi pieces started moving. On their own. Without anyone touching them. Fuck, he hadn’t signed up for this. If he’d wanted ghosts he would’ve joined the Paranormal Club.

“She says,” Mayuzumi said, face screwed up with an almost painful concentration, “she would like to play a game.”


End file.
